


The Call

by Kirsten



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-24
Updated: 2003-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth stands on her balcony and looks over the roses in the garden. They're very pretty, and they make her want to curse. She is tired of flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Call

Elizabeth stands on her balcony and looks over the roses in the garden. They're very pretty, and they make her want to curse. She is tired of flowers.

She's tired of dresses made of silks and satins. She's especially tired of corsets, and the blind need to follow fashion that leaves her ribs crushed into powder on a daily basis. It hurts far more than the strike of a pirate's rough hand, and is more irritating than the buzz of a persistent insect. She once read of a torture practised by the people of the East, the slow drip drip of water designed to drive a person insane. Corsets are nothing like that.

She's also tired of watching Will waste away as he pounds steel at the smithy every day. It's not a physical wasting. His fading goes soul-deep; the blacksmith's hammer has stolen his smile.

The sea calls to him. Something stirred his blood during their time with Jack Sparrow, something that demanded the scent of the sea and the rocking of a ship's deck beneath his feet. Elizabeth knows the feeling well. The sea calls to her, too, though she doesn't know why. Perhaps she has a touch of saltwater in her veins. She hopes so. Sometimes she can almost taste it, and like a day spent walking the desert it leaves her thirsting for more.

She lifts her hand up to the sun. The scar glitters across her palm, ridged and furrowed. How many scars must Jack Sparrow have? It seems a callous desire, but Elizabeth wants to live his horrors. She prefers the scent of fear to the scent of roses.

But it's a good day. They're about to sail again.

There's a knock at the door. Elizabeth smiles. The noise is sudden and sharp in the silence, and once upon a time, before a cursed ship crewed by the damned, she might have jumped. "Enter."

Emma, her maid. "The Commodore is waiting for you and Mister Turner, my lady."

Elizabeth glances back at her roses and lowers her hand. The scar fades into the shadows. "It's about time."


End file.
